


52 in 52

by asocialconstruct



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Dirty Talk, M/M, Medical Torture, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 12:58:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5666908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asocialconstruct/pseuds/asocialconstruct
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some short things for the 52 in 52 http://mcuflashmeme.dreamwidth.org/.  Kind of a grab bag, mostly Steve/Bucky, tags updated as new pieces are added.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A New Beginning

Bucky slings Steve onto the couch, letting him land heavily so the springs creak. Steve just hums happily to himself, toeing his shoes off as Bucky goes to get a glass of water. Not that Bucky's not well on the way to drunk himself, but somewhere around the fourth whiskey Bucky forgot that Steve doesn't hold his liquor as well.

“You don't got enough Irish in you to drink that much, Rogers,” Bucky says, coming back with the water to prop Steve's head up and settling on the couch with Steve's head on his thigh.

Steve snorts, grinning dopily against Bucky's leg. “You gonna fix that for me, Barnes?” Steve says, and Bucky rolls his eyes.

“You're a sloppy drunk,” Bucky says, unbuttoning Steve's shirt upside down and one handed.

“'m gonna puke on y'r shoes for that,” Steve says. He rolls his head on Bucky's thigh, warm and heavy, with that heavy lidded smile he gets when he wants to fuck. Bucky scrapes fingers over Steve's scalp and rolls his eyes again.

“Go ahead, you got nothing in your belly but alcohol, it'll probably get the floorboards cleaner'n they ever been.”

Steve laughs to himself, curling up on the couch and letting Bucky pet his hair. He's sweeter when he's drunk, or at least he lets Bucky be sweeter to him, all his sharp edges blunted a little when he's sleepy.

“You wanna fuck me?” Steve says after a minute, rolling his head on Bucky's leg to look at him. His hair's all messed around and his cheeks are flushed; of course Bucky wants to fuck him.

“You've got whiskey dick,” Bucky says. It's near midnight and they both work in the morning.

“So?” Steve says, under the mistaken impression that mulish is a seduction technique. “I can still suck you off after a fifth of whiskey, see if I don't.”

Bucky undoes one more of Steve's buttons, scratching blunt nails over Steve's collarbone and chest before pushing his hand down to twist Steve's nipple, and that shuts him up. Steve flushes to the roots of his hair and twists against Bucky's thigh upside down on the couch, and maybe he isn't all talk after all. He's flushed pretty and hard through his trousers when Steve opens his eyes again, fluttering when Bucky pinches a little harder and doesn't let go.

“C'mon, Buck, gotta start the new year how you want the rest to go,” Steve breathes. “'S bad luck if you don't fuck me.”

“Sure thing, Casanova,” Bucky says, letting go. “You can suck my dick after you drink some water.”

Steve makes a disgruntled noise, sitting up finally. “Gimme the water, mother superior,” Steve says, sounding ten times more sober as takes the glass and down the whole thing in one go because he's a stubborn little cuss. Not that sober, though, because he flops right back down across Bucky's lap and goes out inside two seconds, curled against the back of the couch. So much for the new year.

Bucky pets Steve's hair in the dark apartment, drifting while he tries to decide if it's worth carrying Steve to bed or dealing with the back ache in the morning.

Bucky's watch says it's two after midnight when he finally stretches out and tugs the scratchy spare blanket down over them. Forty-one was pretty good; forty-two will be better.

“Hey. Steve,” Bucky says, rubbing circles on Steve's back. “It's nineteen forty-two, happy new year.”

“Happy new year,” Steve mumbles back.


	2. A New Beginning

Steve will get over it.

Carter or the Army or both will take care of him; promote him up, get him married, get him a whole passel of hard headed, good looking baby girls to puff himself up about. Steve'll start over, whole new life with Carter to keep him in line and kick his ass for him.

Carter's something else, she won't take any of Steve's bullshit, won't let him play the selfish martyr and mourn for longer than he needs to. She'll kick his ass and make him pick himself up and they'll win the war just between the two of them being hard headed fools together, Bucky knows it.

There'll be parties after the war, swank to-dos where Steve won't know what to do with himself or how to drink champagne or what fork to use, but Carter'll teach him how to dance, how to put together his uniform so he doesn't look like such a fucking butter bar all the goddamn time. Somebody's got to do it, with Bucky gone.

They'll be the best looking couple in New York and London both, probably on magazine covers and doing radio interviews. Glamorous as all hell, married within the year. Nice Catholic thing like Steve's ma always wanted, too much incense and enough candles to burn down the church. Big fancy car to drive off after and a honeymoon at Niagara Falls in the spring, when the cherry trees are blooming.

Three or four baby girls, and maybe Steve'll get some time to paint again when the Army realizes they don't need the dancing monkey in peacetime and that Carter's smarter besides. Steve'll get up at the asscrack of dawn to make Carter her coffee, make pancakes with smiles baked in and put the baby's hair in pig tails. He'll send Carter off to work in the city and the girls off to school, then maybe do the dishes because he's a fucking boy scout, but then he'll paint, real high brow stuff like he wanted and not like blue drawings to make ends meet.

Well, a couple of blue drawings. Of Carter mostly, because they don't stay married forty years with four kids for no good goddamn reason. They'll be so fucking happy.

It keeps his mind off the pain, at any rate, keeps himself from thinking about the hot sepsis and gangrene creeping up his shoulder.

The door swings open when Bucky's just figured out where they live (apartment in the city, summer house in the Hamptons with a tire swing out back and that asshole Stark dropping in), all harsh, cutting light in the gloom. Bucky rolls up onto one knee, the floor swaying under him.

There's three of them, two guards and that little bastard Zola, swimming in and out of his vision. They haul him up like a rag doll, and Bucky knows it's going to be bad when Zola smiles at him. “Come, Sergeant Barnes, it is time to make you a new man.”

Steve'll get over it, make a new life for himself. It doesn't matter what they do to Bucky. Steve'll get over it.


End file.
